


Shortcake

by seekingsquake



Series: (Nothing) Less than Three [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Marijuana, Pining, Pre-Relationship, alternative universe - college/university, bachelor pad aesthetic, soft stoned oral sex, super lazy anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12132417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake
Summary: They’re both responsible for themselves and their own shit, but. When they’re like this, it’s nice to feel like they’re responsible for each other. Hunk wraps his hands around Lance’s hips and slides them up underneath Lance’s shirt. His thumbs trace over the bumps of Lance’s ribs, and his fingers almost meet in the hollow dip of the small of Lance’s back. And yet it’s Hunk that feels small, small enough to fold under the feeling of Lance’s hands on his face.“You are a stud,” Lance insists as he nips lightly at Hunk’s lips. “But you’re Hunk too. A hunka hunka burnin’ love.”Hunk laughs so hard that he dumps Lance onto his back. “Every time,” he gasps, mirth crackling through his blood, his cheeks flushed, “Every freaking time, holy shit, that’s such a bad line.”





	Shortcake

**Author's Note:**

> I have only seen ten episodes of Voltron, so if this feels a little OOC, I'm sorry. Hunk is the love of my life, and I wanted him to have nice things.
> 
> Do not look up any of Lance's bad lines. They're all from terrible songs and I'm sorry that I can't stop laughing.
> 
> Also: Not sure if this should be E or M, so I rated it up just to be safe.

It’s late afternoon, and the patio door is propped open. There had been an unfortunate oven accident earlier when he forgot to set the kitchen timer and then proceeded to fall asleep on the sofa bed while watching some weird documentary about Celine Dion on tv. He’s still airing out the smoke smell from the apartment, but it’s still sort of warm for September, so he doesn’t mind. He’s managed a tray of really nice pecan tarts and a batch of double fudge cookies, and now he’s thinking about maybe popping to the store to grab the stuff for strawberry shortcake. For La...ter. For later.

Since the door’s open, he can hear Lance coming from down the street, revving the engine of his little street bike and squealing around corners too tightly. Gonna get himself hurt like that one day, but he likes the adrenaline. Lance never really grew out of those little boy career goals; race car driver, stuntman, astronaut, that sort of thing. The only thing he’s got right now is a little street bike, just a couple steps above those dinky mopeds everyone made fun of in high school, and a minimum wage job sorting stock and moving milk crates in the cafeteria on campus. Hunk wants to tell him to slow the fuck down, but. They gotta find joy where they can.

Shortcake sounds real damn nice.

Their building is only a three-storey walk-up, and they live on the back end of the second floor. Hunk can hear the door to the stairwell slam shut and the jingle of keys, and then Lance is hopping into the foyer as he kicks off his boots. “Hey,” he mumbles around the plastic stick of a lollipop. “Smells like burning chocolate.”

The first time Hunk accidentally set something on fire he had screamed, panicked, and then after the fire was out, he had a stress-induced stomach ache for the rest of the night. Lance had rubbed his belly while they watched movies until they both fell asleep. Now, Hunk just opens the door, and Lance just tries to pretend he’s not watching Hunk for any signs of stress. “First batch of cookies didn’t go so well. Second batch is nice, though.”

“Oooh,” Lance lights up as he ducks into the kitchen, dodging around Hunk’s larger frame. “Tarts!”

They haven’t known each other for as long as it feels like they have, but it’s been long enough for the scene to play out pretty predictably. Lance shoves a tart into his mouth, then makes a face because he hates pecans. Hunk already has a glass of milk poured for him to wash it down, followed by a cookie. He says, “Beef stroganoff for dinner, dude?”

Lance downs the milk, eats the cookie, says, “I ate at the caf,” and moves off towards the bedroom to change his clothes.

A breeze swoops in from outside and Hunk shivers. He closes the patio door only mostly, leaving it open a crack because their evenings often play out the same way and he’ll want the door open later. “Anything cool happen today?”

Lance comes back into the main room in huge flannel PJ pants that flood around his ankles and a threadbare black armless shirt. “Fucking Keith posted this photo on Instagram this morning and I fucking. He thinks he’s so cool now that he’s on an athletic scholarship or whatever and hanging out with the rugby team. Shiro’s all over my damn newsfeed now; it’s annoying.” He flops down bonelessly onto the sofa bed and fishes around under the blankets for the remote. Hunk doesn’t bring up the fact that just last week Lance had ripped an article about Shiro out of the university newsletter and shoved it into his work bag, or the fact that the only reason he and Keith don’t hang out anymore is because Lance had wanted that scholarship too. “Anything cool on tv today?”

“Did you know that Celine Dion won Eurovision for Switzerland in ‘88?”

Lance stares at him, blank-faced, and then cackles. “God, Dude, you’re such a nerd. Oh, look, Jurassic Park!”  

Hunk grabs the tray of cookies from the kitchen, and a couple of bags of chips and a handful of granola bars, and then crawls onto the sofa bed and hunkers down beside Lance. He’s still so tired. The extra credit thing he’s doing for Dr Coran is kicking his ass, and since Shay moved across the damn country, he’s been staying up late at night to Skype her. Not to mention being broke is just...

It’s exhausting. He almost asked his mom to send him money last month, but instead, he just cut the baking for a couple weeks and didn’t bother buying produce. It was fine. It’s fine. “Hey,” Lance says, tilting his head against Hunk’s shoulder and looking up at him through dark lashes. He’s got bags under his eyes, and Hunk wishes he could brush them away with his thumbs like tears, but. “Let's get ripped. Rolo gave me a couple joints earlier. You wanna?”

“If you wanna. We could get pizza later.”

Everything about Lance is thin. His smile, too, but that doesn’t make it any less nice. Not that there’s anything about Lance that Hunk doesn’t like, really, thin or whatever. When Lance rolls to his feet and pads back towards the bedroom, Hunk catches a glimpse of Lance’s ribs in the brief moment that his shirt billows away from his torso before he stands up straight. And it’s not like it’s his job to make sure that Lance is getting enough to eat or whatever-- they’re both responsible for themselves and their own shit-- but. He’s still allowed to worry. Lance is his best friend. Lance is his--

“God, smells so good,” Lance says as he drops back down beside Hunk, joints and a lighter in hand. He kicks out with one of those long legs of his and pushes the patio door open wider with his toes, and then lights up. He takes a long drag, holds it, and turns to Hunk. Hunk is bigger in every possible way, always has been, but he likes how small he feels when Lance levers himself up and over him and then exhales all the smoke in his face. Lance leans back and coughs a little, and Hunk scrunches his nose as the smoke cloud wafts over him, but then they smile at each other.

Nice. Easy. A good, quiet way to end a long day in the middle of a long week. “It’d hit you harder if you smoked it yourself,” Lance tells him, but neither of them cares that much. They both like it like this.

“I don’t like the way it feels in my throat,” Hunk complains.

“That’s ‘cause you never inhale deep enough. You’re supposed to breathe it all the way in.” They have the same conversation every time. Doesn’t matter. Lance still sucks on the joint and then blows the smoke into Hunk’s face. Nice. Easy. It doesn’t take too much. Rolo usually doesn’t bother giving Lance shitty pot. They’re both good and stoned before they even light up the second joint, and they’ve flicked between Jurassic Park and The Food Network until the movie ended. They’re two episodes into a Beat Bobby Flay marathon when Lance starts laughing to himself.

“What,” Hunk murmurs, eyes bleary.

“Just,” Lance says before laughing again and pressing his face into Hunk’s shoulder. “You’re my, like. Hunk muffin. Get it? Like stud muffin except Hunk.”

Hunk pauses before laughing. “Are you saying I’m not studly?”

Everything’s funny, especially when they’re together, especially right now, so they both laugh. Pressed torso to torso, legs tangled together, the blanket spread over both of them and all the snacks shoved to the floor, they laugh.

And then-- it doesn’t always happen, but sometimes it does and today just must be one of those days-- they’re kissing.

They’re both loose and uncoordinated, but Lance doesn’t ever need Hunk to be coordinated. “Hey,” Lance whispers as he crawls over Hunk’s body. “Hey baby, hey baby, hey.” Hunk never points it out because he’s worried that if he does Lance will stop, but when Lance is stoned and wants to have sex, he starts talking in strings of song lyrics. It’s dorky as fuck, but Hunk loves it. Lance settles over him, lean and gangly, knees a little too knobby, and Hunk feels small and safe.

Precious.

They’re both responsible for themselves and their own shit, but. When they’re like this, it’s nice to feel like they’re responsible for each other. Hunk wraps his hands around Lance’s hips and slides them up underneath Lance’s shirt. His thumbs trace over the bumps of Lance’s ribs, and his fingers almost meet in the hollow dip of the small of Lance’s back. And yet it’s Hunk that feels small, small enough to fold under the feeling of Lance’s hands on his face.

“You  _ are  _ a stud,” Lance insists as he nips lightly at Hunk’s lips. “But you’re  _ Hunk  _ too. A hunka hunka burnin’ love.”

Hunk laughs so hard that he dumps Lance onto his back. “Every time,” he gasps, mirth crackling through his blood, his cheeks flushed, “Every freaking time, holy shit, that’s such a  _ bad line _ .”

Lance presses his palms into his eyes and giggles, then rolls back onto his stomach. “You fuckin’ love it, don’t lie.” Hunk is still choking back laughter even as Lance crawls back into his lap. “It makes you laugh. You look so good when you laugh, dude. Like. God. Wanna just.” He sucks Hunk’s bottom lip into his mouth, kisses him wet and sweet. Gentle, gentle. People aren’t often gentle with Hunk because he’s tall and beefy and sometimes he’s a little high strung, but. Lance, for all his teasing and dragging Hunk behind him on sometimes poorly thought out adventures, is always gentle. Always handles Hunk with care. It’s...

It’s much appreciated.

“Wanna just what?” Hunk murmurs, trying to pull Lance’s shirt off his skinny little chest and failing hard. There’s so much shirt and not very much Lance and--

“Wanna fuckin’ eat you, holy shit.”

Hunk’s breath catches in his throat, and he can feel himself trembling all over. Fucking Lance. Hunk loves him so much it sometimes makes his stomach feel quakey. When they’re done here, he’s gonna go to the store and get all the stuff for shortcake. Doesn’t matter if he has to dip into next week’s budget to do it. They gotta find joy where they can and Lance--

“You want it, Beefcake?”

Hunk snorts, fond and amused, but wiggles and pushes on Lance’s shoulder and groans, “Gonna take what you want or what?”

Lance  _ really  _ loves a challenge. “Oh, Buddy, you’re in for it now,” he grins as he strips out of his clothes, like a snake shedding its skin. So much extra fabric. Then he tugs on Hunk’s t-shirt and shorts until they’re both naked. “‘Bouta eat the booty like groceries. Dude, fuck, you’re so damn hot.” 

Hunk can feel his skin burning up under Lance’s gaze, greedy and hungry and soft, even as he covers his eyes with his arm because _that fucking line_. His legs fall open of their own accord and  god; Lance just falls between them like he can’t get there fast enough. Like every minute he’s not right there is a minute too long. 

They’re not dating. They aren’t. They haven’t even talked about it. Lance flits around campus and flirts with all the cheerleaders, goads Allura into playing kissing drinking games with him at frat parties, looks at Pidge with moons in his eyes when he thinks no one’s looking. And Hunk undeniably adores Shay. But at the end of the day, there’s only one person that’s been there for Hunk unconditionally since he was, like, thirteen, and there’s only one person he knows right now who he can see himself knowing for the rest of his life.

So, they’re not dating. But that doesn’t mean Hunk isn’t committed. Lance is his best friend. He loves Lance so much. And Lance--

Lance sinks his mouth down on Hunk’s cock and sucks once, hard, before pulling off and leaving wet kisses all up and down the shaft. He gets his shoulders under Hunk’s thighs and scrapes his teeth against the soft, dark skin there.

\--Lance has always been gentle with him, has always had his back.

Hunk’s thighs are shaking with anticipation. Fucking tease. “Lance.”

When he looks down, Lance is quirking one of those ridiculously expressive eyebrows at him. “Hmm? What’s the matter?” Than Lance is sucking on his balls and Hunk’s eyes roll back in his head. He lets himself get sloppy, tonguing whatever skin he can and humming, his eyes dark and focused. He’s a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure. Always ready to dive headfirst into the deep end of the pool, always willing to follow through on both his threats and his promises. And when he says he wants to eat you, well.

“You taste,” Lance murmurs, pushing Hunk’s thighs further up and out, spreading him open, kneading at his ass with sure hands. “So good.” He dives back down and in, sinking his tongue past Hunk’s rim and just. Going for it. 

Hunk sucks in a breath through clenched teeth and then his jaw falls open in a breathy moan. He scrambles for purchase on the cushion beneath his head and in Lance’s hair, and he has to fight not to wrap his legs around Lance’s head. It’s so much. He feels so  _ spoiled.  _ He’s still stoned and feeling a little floaty, a little heavy, a little like his brain is going to fly away without him. Lance is fucking him on his tongue, and then his hand is wrapped around Hunk’s cock and squeezing the base, and Hunk just shakes and shakes. “Lance.” He wants... “Lance,” he wants...

When Lance comes up for air his face is wet with saliva, but Hunk reaches for him and pulls him into an open-mouthed, desperate kiss anyway. “Wait,” Lance whispers, easing Hunk back down. “Let me get the lube. BRB Cupcake.”

Lance always knows what he wants. It doesn’t even matter whether Hunk can find the words.

He’s back before Hunk knows it, lube and condoms and a packet of wet wipes drop to the pillow beside Hunk’s head before Lance is on him again, between thick thighs. “Wait, no,” Lance mutters. “No, turn over. Let me see that bubble yum bum, badum bum badum.”

Hunk rolls onto his belly and stifles his laughter in the pillow. Fucking Lance. What a doofus. And then his laughter turns into a stuttering moan as Lance nips at his ass and then carefully slides a finger inside him. His fingers are so damn long, and the second and third go in nice and easy. He feels so good. The high’s wearing down a little, but everything still feels so good, and Hunk doesn’t want to stop even though he’s feeling sluggish with exhaustion. “Lance,” he says, but the name gets swallowed by the pillow. Somehow, Lance hears it anyway. His hand retreats, and then he’s fumbling with a condom and more lube, and then--

He slides in and bottoms out. Nice. Easy. “Feels good,” Lance murmurs, breathless. “Fricking--” He thrusts deep and slow, his hands sliding up the expanse of Hunk’s broad back, one tangling in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder for leverage. 

“Slow,” Hunk slurs. “Slow.”

Lance leans against his back, presses his lips to Hunk’s shoulder blades. “I know, I got you,” he says, and then he just grinds in. They’re pressed so close together you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between them, and they’re hardly even moving aside from the slight grind of their hips against each other. They don’t have the energy for much else, but Hunk likes it like this. Likes feeling like Lance and him could fall asleep inside each other, blanketing each other. 

“Fuck,” Lance whispers, his forehead pressed to Hunk’s spine. “Always get me so wound up. I wanna just disappear inside you oh my god.”

Hunk’s skin goosebumps up at that, and he clenches down, and Lance moans and grinds in hard and deep. “Lance.”

“Let me touch you,” Lance begs, desperate. “I want you to come on my dick. Wanna? Babe?”

Hunk grabs Lance’s hand, the one clawing into his shoulder, and guides it down to where they both want it to be because he can’t verbalize just how much he wants it. It won’t be long now, for either of them. They don’t need much when they’re together like this. Lance moves his fist tight and hard over Hunk’s dick, and Hunk keens and tightens up when he comes. Lance’s fingers are wet, and he sucks on them as he thrusts hard into Hunk thrice before collapsing onto Hunk’s back with a satisfied sigh. “Gonna sleep here,” Lance mutters.

Hunk wants to let him. Wants to let Lance live inside him. Instead, he says, “No, I gotta get up, dude.”

“Duuuude.” Lance’s whine has developed over the years specifically to make Hunk weak in the knees and of flimsy convictions. But it’s not gonna work today.

“Gotta hit the store,” Hunk insists, squirming reluctantly. “Wanna get stuff for strawberry shortcake.”

“Mmm that’s my fave,” Lance mumbles as he rolls off Hunk’s back and shoves his head under the pillow.

“I know,” Hunk laughs. He stands on wobbly legs and stretches, then moves toward the bedroom. Their apartment is a box with one bedroom and a toilet and shower stall jammed inside a bathroom small enough to be a closet. Lance sleeps in the bedroom because he’s a light sleeper and the noise from the street would keep him awake, but they share the closet. Hunk likes the sofa bed anyway. He dresses in the first things he grabs and slips his wallet in his pocket, then makes for the front door.

“Hey.” Lance is curled up under the blanket, his eyes closed and his face mostly buried in the pillowcase. His voice is muffled when he says, “You’re my fave too.”

Hunk laughs and leaves, but he pauses in the hall outside the apartment and just leans against the door for a second, breathing. “I know,” he whispers to himself, and then he heads for the stairwell. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I created the content I wanted to see in the world! I hope you like it, too :)
> 
> Songs Lance references:  
> Hey Baby - No Doubt  
> Burning Love - Elvis  
> Post to Be - Omarion  
> Can't Believe It - Flo Rida ft. Pitbull


End file.
